


Fault lines of our lives

by prayforpiett



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Drinking, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26758789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prayforpiett/pseuds/prayforpiett
Summary: Booker tries to cope, as the years pass by in Paris and a letter arrives.//This is for the traitor prompt and yes, I'm doing the prompts out of order.//
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Booker | Sebastien le Livre
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50
Collections: Angstober 2020





	Fault lines of our lives

**Author's Note:**

> This is... sort of angst I guess? Well, as someone wise said to me Booker certainly is a walking book of angst so. It counts? Also, no beta we die like men.

It's Friday night when he finds it, stumbling home from the store with an already half-empty bottle in hand. He doesn't notice it at first but as he fumbles with the lock, missing the keyhole, again and again, he sees it from the corner of his eye. He lifts his leg, revealing an envelope marked with his wet footprint. The taste of the cheap liquor turns into ash in his mouth when he hurriedly crouches down and clumsily traces the familiar swift lines. It's her, it's really her. He presses the flimsy paper to his nose, greedily and desperately wanting to breathe in the scent of home (which has slowly disappeared from his clothes throughout the years) but thanks to his footprint, it only smells of dirt and piss.

A car passes on the street, and in their headlights, he suddenly feels stupid, cartoonish and fake as if his actions were only part of a show, put on for the sake of the Paris night. With so many spectators, the moment is a comedy of its own. They obviously don't want him back. Why would they? He curses himself and crumples the envelope as he finally manages to stab the lock with his key.

For the rest of the week, the battered and thoroughly crumped letter sits next to a rotting banana and a half-eaten apple in the fruit bowl, staring at him whenever he passes the kitchen. He turns his back to it every time he enters the kitchen and he feels like a coward. Then, on Monday he chugs down a bottle of vodka and when he feels like it burns his insides more than anything that could be in the envelope, he tears it open.

It's a small card with an address of a small café, just a few streets down. There is no date or even a signature on the paper. He stares at it until and raspy laughter bubbles up from his throat. Andy, brief and cryptic as always. He used to wonder whether mortality has changed her but these few comforting words wrap around him like a warm blanket. As if a few years could change who has lived through century after century. But his joy is fleeting as he realises that he still has no idea what she wants from him. Maybe she is after information about Merrick. He had given them every last scrap he could but maybe it was not enough. Maybe there are people trying to follow in his footsteps. He decides to visit the liquor store again.

On the next morning, he swallows aspirins as if they were candy and mixes up the most disgusting concoction he can, to kill his pounding headache. It works but he ends up throwing up into the kitchen sink. He trembles, staring into the drain full of the remains of his breakfast and thinks that he would have been better off stabbing himself as a hangover cure. Still, he manages to make himself somewhat presentable by nine o'clock.

...

Andy is sitting in the corner of the café with a cup of espresso before her (as always) and Booker has to stop for a moment to take in every detail of her. She looks exactly and nothing like when they last spoke on the beach. The same short hair, the same black gear but she has a different kind of glint in her eyes as she looks at him and it frightens him more than he'd care to admit. Still, he is the one to talk first.

"It looks good on you."

"What?"

"Aging, I mean."

"Asshole," she snorts.

"No, but seriously. You look happier."

He really means it. There are lines forming beside her eyes, etching every laughter and smile into her face, forming a map that helps him navigate all the years he had missed. He wants to know the story behind every wrinkle but he is also aware that he has no right to it.

Her face softens.

"Nile's been good on the team."

"I knew that she would. She is a great kid."

That girl was strong, so strong yet she still possessed a gentle idealism and a curiosity that was long missing from their family. Although Joe and Nicky could never tire from each, they only found the world interesting because their lover existed in it. He and Andy didn't have that. Nile on the other hand... She still cared. 

"She indeed is. I offered to teach her how to fight with an ax but she was more interested in the sword."

"I suppose Joe was overjoyed to teach her."

"He was insufferably smug about it."

It unsettles him how easily they slip back into their usual conversation patterns, like slipping on an old, well-worn sweater. It feels good, too good. He should enjoy it while it lasts, as long as she is willing to keep up the pretences. It's like the calm before the storm, he thinks as he swallows and forces himself to continue. 

"Typical. Are the lovebirds still as disgustingly happy as ever?"

"They are on their 203rd honeymoon."

He frowns, as he tries to recount the years.

"I thought they had gotten married in every country in the world by now. Did they go to the fucking moon or something?"

"There was this small dictatorship in Africa, that only existed for a few months before the neighbouring nations crushed it."

"Just chaotic and bloody enough to be the perfect wedding venue for them." He chuckles. 

We helped to bring it down as part of the reception. It got bloody."

She smiles, one of her razor-sharp, vicious smiles that used to mean victory before she stopped enjoying the thrill of the fight and even though he had seen so little this side of her, he instantly feels the wave of excitement.

"Two birds with one stone. Did you at least drink some champagne?"

"I don't really like drinks that have pieces of brains in them."

"And where did that "drink out of the skulls of your enemies" attitude go?"

"I didn't think the skulls were supposed to have brains in them."

"You may be doing it wrong. Wouldn't be surprised"

"Smartass."

Worry tugs at him for this woman before him who could have died so easily, in so many ways that play out before his eyes one by one like those bad action movies they used to watch together. The movements are exaggerated and the Andy in his thoughts screams more than it's humanly possible. He was so willing to give her the chance to end it but since that day when the gunshot wound in her side just didn't close up miraculously, Quynh is not the only one drowning again and again in his dreams. He even bought an emergency kit just in case she stumbles into his apartment one morning, pale and bloody. But he bites his tongue as Andy puts down her cup and he knows that it's time for the interrogation.

"And what you've been up to?"

The implications of the seemingly casual question hang in the air but he is prepared for this.

"I bought myself a parrot."

Andy narrows her eyes and he knows that he didn't manage to throw her off-track.

"A parrot? Really?"

"He speaks rather good Italian."

"What's his name?"

"Bastardo."

"I suppose he deserved it."

"Oh, believe me, he did. He is even more cranky in the mornings than Joe. And has an even more colourful swearing vocabulary."  
Joe didn't swear often, but when they watched football together (especially when it was the world cup) and his team was losing, he did let out a few. Even though they were mostly old-fashioned curses like "may the crows eat your eyes out".  
"I'll tell him that he has a competitor."

"Good."

"But don't think you've got off so easily. You still haven't answered my question."

Shit.

"What question?"

"I may be old, but I'm not that old to fall for this Booker. What have you been up to?"

"Just the usual." He says airily, trying way too hard to sound actual and off-hand.

"You mean drinking yourself to death?" 

"That's a bit of an overstatement. I've never -"

"Do not lie to me, Sébastien" she snaps "I've been watching you for a few weeks and I know exactly what you've been doing to yourself."

Shit shit shit. He stares at her for a moment then puts his head into his hands and lets out a burst of strained laughter.

"You've seen it all, haven't you?"

"I did."

So all of this was for nothing. The lies, the pretences and the aspirin. He should have known, he should have realised that he was being watched. Gods, he was really out of practice. And now, he successfully managed to convince her that he hadn't changed at all, that he was still a coward and a liar.

"I tried to get myself together you know? I really tried. I got myself a job, I made friends. Had lovers. I wanted to prove to you, to the team that I can change. I wanted to make sure that after I've served my sentence, I won't be a burden anymore. Things were going well.

He worked in a bookstore, organizing shelves and taking the new shipments into stock. It was a quiet, boring job with only a few coworkers around who'd nag him about eating more and invite him to play boardgames on Fridays. He pretended to be horrible at Monopoly but thoroughly enjoyed winning in Scrabble every time. After all, if he had to put up with years of losing to obscure, millenium old slang words from Andy, then he might as well have his fun.

"But then?"

"But then I looked at the life I made for myself, at all the people in it and realised that they would be better off without me."  
They really were. After the messages, the phone calls and the knocking on his door stopped, he saw them laughing in a café, with a deck of cards spread out before them. They didn't need his quiet misery, which eventually would have dragged them down with him.

"So you cut ties and started drinking again."

"You say that as if I ever managed to quit. I didn't. I just tamed it for a short time."

Andy suddenly looks older than ever and Booker regrets every single line this conversation etches onto her skin.

"This whole situation is a goddamn shitshow." She mutters, anger and exhaustion evident in his voice.

"Is there anything that's not a goddamn shitshow?" 

She gives shoots him a glare and he mentally kicks himself for opening his mouth. After that, the silence stretches uncomfortably between them as they watch the cars passing by on the street. It feels like forever before Andy finally opens her mouth.

"You know, we've missed you."

"What?"

"We've missed you, you idiot. We were angry and hurt, yes but we were stuck with you for centuries and that's not the kind of friendship which is easy to end. That's not the kind of family. I thought we've made that clear but no, you are here, you are a goddamn mess and you die choking on your vomit every Saturday thinking that we don't care about you anymore. Those years hurt us too, hurt like Hell, when Joe had to watch the world cup alone, when there was no one to one up Nicky's sarcastic comments, when I didn't have someone to drink with and when Nile felt alone because we are all so fucking old. Still, we needed the distance because we didn't want the distrust between us to grow into hate, we didn't want you to see us flinch when you enter a room."

His hands were shaking and he didn't even bother to cover it up. The pained anger in Andy's eyes softened, as she looked him.

"But still one hundred years was too much. I'm mortal now and even for them, any fight, any wound, any accident could be the last. We can't afford to lose time.

"What do you mean?"

His voice trembles with anticipation and fear, not daring to hope.

"It means, welcome back, Booker."

He sobs with relief until he has no tears left to cry and Andy holds him until the very end. The guests stare at them and a concerned waiter asks them moire than once if they need anything but every moment is precious and they have so little time. The excruciating forever of his long life hangs on this point but for once, he is stronger, braver and most importantly, not alone anymore. He has his family beside him and he knows that with them, he can finally conquer nightmares that are eating him away. They are warriors after all. They were made to fight.

When he finally pulls away, he realises that he wasn't the only one crying but he doesn't mention it. Instead, he blows his nose and gathers himself.

"I'll go to my place and pack my things."

The words still taste foreign in his mouth but it feels so good to finally say them.

"Okay, but one last thing before that."

He is worried for a moment but Andy's grin puts an end to his fears.

"Do you really have a parrot?"


End file.
